The 294th Hunger Games- The Light of Dawn
by Valeriya21
Summary: This is a SYOT currently accepting submissions. The prologue is posted as Chapter 2 for this, and the format is also on my profile for easier copy/paste.
1. SYOT Format

Hello! I'll be writing a SYOT-based Hunger Games as my first fanfiction on this website. I do understand that not many of you will take the time to write out a format for someone who's had an account on this website for about an hour now. However, I swear on the River Styx/on the Angel Blade/_insert binding oath from your chosen fandom here_ that:

1) It will certainly go over 50,000 words and most likely over 100,000. (Yes, there's a big difference, but just bear with my strange self-predictions.)

2) It will be written in properly spell-checked, "grammar-checked" English.

3) _There will be ways for you to influence the outcome of the Games._

4) _It will be finished._

Therefore, that's why I'd quite like you to take the time and fill out the SYOT for me, so that I'm not completely stuck, developing at least twenty-four characters on my own. You need not copy the headings.

** BASIC**

0) Name (First, last, and possibly middle, if you wish.)

1) District (if from 1, 2, or 4, was he/she reaped or did he/she volunteer?)

2) Gender

3) Hair color, eye color, skin color, physique, approximate height, general appearance

4) Personality

** BACKSTORY**

_(4 and 5 may be combined, if you wish.)_

5) What was his/her family like? Their social status?

6) A brief biography of his/her life. If a Career, explain their training.

** THE GAMES**

_Note: I may not be able to adhere to your responses in this section, although I will try to keep as close as possible. However, answering these questions gives me a further insight into their character/personality._

7) What would their strengths in training be? If a Career, what would their preferred weapon(s) be?

8) _Most natural_ interview angle

9) General bloodbath strategy

**OTHER**

10) In this section, inform me of anything else you'd like me to know about your character.

Once again, please do fill this out, and PM it to me (Valeriya17)! I may not be able to use every single submission, so the most descriptive profiles _will gain a spot!_ If you do, I may contact you further about your character's role in the story. If you have questions, contact me!

_May the odds be ever in your favor._

~Valeriya


	2. Prologue

Adria Carlisle glared furiously out the window of her office, the glass especially designed by the Capitol's scientists to be completely bulletproof, and several times harder than diamonds.

A knock sounded on her door, and she turned around. Who _dared_ to disturb her peace?

She smiled professionally, walked over, and opened it. Outside stood Angelica, her Head Gamemaker.

"So sorry to interrupt you, President Carlisle, but I needed to consult you regarding the tributes for the Games," the Gamemaker said.

A perfectly plucked eyebrow raised itself up several millimeters. "It had better be worth my time in gold."

"Oh, yes, it is." Angelica took a slim, hologram-projecting device from her wristlet. Oh, those silly Capitol trends. "You see, there's a problem with the Games. Which, as you know, begin in three weeks."

"Yes, yes, I know," Adria snapped impatiently. "Get on with it. What happened?"

"Well...you see, the Games aren't spectacular enough this year. That Gamemaker that your...er, predecessor appointed last year was in charge of the main arena design, and you should simply see what he created."

Adria's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Well, I don't see. Kindly leave or get on with it."

"Yes, yes, so sorry, President." She tapped the screen, and a hologram projected into the air.

"I see a forest. What's so important about that?"

"That's the only thing that's been created. No mutts, no poisoned berries...it's a forest, nothing else."

Adria cursed under her breath. "I'll have him executed," she muttered.

"Pardon?" Angelica asked, not hearing.

Adria straightened up. This was her first year as President, and she expected the Games to be nothing short of the most famous in history, more spectacular than the most famous Quarter Quells, more crimson-stained arena than the war zones after the failed rebellion following the 75th Games.

"I said, 'Sit down, and we'll make these the most enthralling Games.' "

"That's what you said? I didn't hear..." Angelica replied.

"No, it's not what I said, but it's what you'll do, and if not, the lot of you will be gone, and we'll have the light of dawn, a new day, a new era, of the Hunger Games."


	3. District One

**A/N**: I really apologize for not updating sooner. Holiday break, too much homework leading up to that...et cetera. No, I have not given up on this story. At the end of the chapter is a listing of spots taken, who(m?) they're taken by, and therefore, what spots are still available.

Funnily, I did not receive any D1 SYOTs, so I asked some of my friends in real life to help me come up with characters, so I'm using their creations.

_**District One, Jana Mielle**_

I stare at myself in the mirror and inwardly grimace. The fact that I had never looked like a District One citizen had always been a source of great vexation to myself. While the other girls have wavy blonde hair, I've straight, brown stuff that looks more District Two, and instead of light green or blue (or even violet, they've now a procedure for making blue eyes appear that other color), mine are a mundane dark color, that's not mysterious and black with the undertone of amber that characters in books have, and not a light brown that sparkles in the sunlight, but a perfectly boring shade. Yes, my family has much money and a high enough social status, at least high enough to please my sister, who's young but who'd dream of social ranks even higher than what we have now, but even with our capability to do things that most in the District can't, I'd like not to have a cosmetic alteration. Unlike most, I'd rather appear who I am, even if it is not what I wish for in my dreams.

And although I don't appear to be a typical District One girl, I'll be the figurehead of the District, soon enough, as I will volunteer for the 294th Hunger Games, even at the tender age of sixteen, which is young, at least to volunteer. Most Careers are seventeen, and occasionally eighteen. But I started training early, when I was two, and I understood what exactly I was training for when I was four, and by the time I was eleven, I was taking yearly examinations, in which a panel of judges would predict your training score, with the numbers occasionally reaching into the third or fourth decimal places. At eleven, my training score would've been about a six, which was extremely low, considering that a thirteen-year-old girl from District Three, not even a Career one, had scored a seven several years before that. I remember my parents being extremely upset with me; they insisted I wasn't trying hard enough. But I worked it up high enough, eventually, and I was doing well enough to earn their approval when I was fourteen. And my family has high standards; to meet their approval was a wonderful thing.

In the present is the most important thing, though, so I prepare myself for the Reapings in several hours, as I riffle through my closet for a suitable dress. Several are too casual; several I won't be able to run up to the stage quickly enough. I ponder the problem, almost calling my sister, Maia, in for help. She's eleven, too young for the Reapings, but her fashion sense has been noted in the society columns of the newspapers of a very fashion-conscious district.

A knock sounds on my door. I sigh. Can I not work out this problem in peace? I walk over, and open it.

Emilie, Maia's and my maid, stands there. "So sorry to bother you, miss, as I know you're very busy, but Maia wanted me to send you something, as she thought you might have trouble with an outfit for the Reapings, miss."

I inwardly smile. My younger sister, stereotypically District One, to the rescue. "Oh, she did? May I see?"

"Yes, of course, miss." I notice something draped over her arm, something that I didn't notice. Foolish, Jana, foolish. You'll have to pay more attention to little details to do well in the Games. She takes it off, and begins unzipping the cover on it. "If you'll pardon me, miss, where shall I lay it out so you can see it, miss?"

"Oh, do excuse my manners, Emilie, please come in. You can lay it out right there." I indicate a cream-colored couch, upholstered in the finest satin.

"Thank you, Miss Jana. Oh, I do hope you'll like it, Miss Maia bought it last night for you as a surprise." She begins losing some of her composure in her excitement, as she wrings her hands.

"Very well, Emilie, very well. I'll only perhaps like it if you take it out, though," I say.

"Yes, so sorry, pardon!" She finally unzips it, and a beautiful dress emerges.

It's the epitome of our District, a luxurious affair of a shimmery material cut with a high-low hem, sleeveless. I can only hope I will be able to run quickly enough to the stage in it. I do wish that my sister thought of that when choosing it.

I'll have to thank her in some way. Coming back to her in four weeks or so will be a good way of showing that.

_**District One, Chamroeun Savoy**_

"Leah, give it back. Now, if you'll please." I'm absolutely fed up with my imbecilic younger cousins, who're to stay with my family for several days while my aunt and uncle, their parents, are in the Capitol on business.

She pouts. "Do I have to, Chammy?"

"Yes, now. And I'll remind you, Leah, that _my_ family, not yours, is very influential. And if you call me Chammy one more time, I'll make sure that your parents will not be happy." Leah is thirteen, old enough to catch the meaning of my words, other then the fact that I'll "tell on her."

"Aw. Fine," she says, as she tosses the knife back towards me. The Reapings are today, and this is the last training I'll be getting in a while, as I doubt the escort would like my practicing on the train, and I really cannot just abruptly stop training until we get to the Training Center. I'll be in no condition for the arena. Goodness knows what that'll be, I think, as with a flick of my wrist, the knife goes sailing directly into the center of the target.

Yes, I do plan on volunteering for the Games. Any patriotic citizen of Panem would do that.

I hope that whoever'll be my District partner will be several things. First, easy to manipulate. Two, a good fighter. Three, someone who will let males do the leading. It's a natural thing, males leading.

Last year, the female District Four tribute led the Career Pack. The final four consisted of exactly one Career, who was the Four male, two Eights, and one Five. That's simply not what happens. That idiotic fool let it happen. Statistics have shown that seventy-nine percent of all Games are won by Careers. That'll be a hundred percent. And then, a hundred percent from District One.

And the Career didn't win. Male Eight did. That's not how it's done.

If I lose, it's to someone who I respect in the arena and who had my back.

Disregard that thought. I won't lose, because Chamroeun Savoy doesn't lose. That's not how it's done, either.

Leah's a wonderfully oblivious, incompetent person. If she was someone on the streets who took something that was mine, even as a joke, she would be dead.

When I come back as victor, I can do what I want. They won't arrest someone who's the victor, and who killed at least sixteen of the twenty-four tributes.

Yes, I plan to be the killing machine in the arena.

When I can do what I want, I'll add a seventeenth death to that count. Leah annoys me constantly, and people who irritate me always end up dead. Even a little bit.

My little sister bit me on the hand one day, and her germ-infested saliva infected me. Infants have extremely sharp teeth; it was an open wound. I couldn't train for a whole month, because it was a swollen, whitish mass. When my initial anger calmed down, it turned out that she was accidentally poisoned. Cyanide in her peanut puree stuff, they said. It was on the governess, of course. She got the death penalty.

She might've caused my death. A month of training lost is a month of training that you don't have in the arena. In that month, I could've improved my spear-throwing skills. God knows, my lack of spear skills might be what kills me in the arena.

So the only thing to do was cause her death, because my life is, of course, much more important than hers. No, I'm not insane. Passed every mental examination I was ever given.

Chamroeun Savoy gets what he wants. And, of course, because my father is one of the District advisors, no one gives me instructions except for myself. Sometimes, I don't even give myself instructions. That's not how it's done.

_**District One, Jana Mielle**_

After my finger is pricked in the identification test, I and several other sixteen-year-old girls are shepherded off in a whirlwind of dysfunctional activity. They could come up with a more organized system. An organized mind leads to an organized life. I suppose that's something they should eventually learn.

I survey my surroundings. In One, there is really no such thing as a middle class. There are about two or three levels, perhaps, of the upper class, and then there are many levels of the lower class. The servants, the factory workers, and the homeless come to mind. The dress is just as varied, some girls are in their most elaborate evening gowns (which is not actually appropriate for the occasion. Maia's chirping voice comes to mind. "Dress for the occasion, not for your wedding," she said once, when I tried a puffy white dress for a dinner party). Some lower-class girls are wearing ugly brown or beige things.

I don't have many friends, so I resort to watching girls find their friends and gather in large gossipy groups. I see not one dress like mine.

I wonder where Maia got it. It's perfectly elegant, even though the trend now isn't in those shimmery types of fabrics.

Everyone cheers, then quiets down as Mayor Carnelian walks to the podium. The regular ceremonial readings pass, while everyone, as usual, completely zones him out.

Perhaps District One isn't a bad place for those less fortunate, I think, because children can take out as much tesserae as they'd like and still not get in the Games, because there are always volunteers. Yes, always volunteers, some of which I'll have to beat to the stage.

Everyone politely claps as the mayor finishes, and the escort walks up. Her voice rings out in the crowd, shrill and high, in a Capitol accent, her image projected onto huge screens surrounding the area, microphones everywhere projecting her voice. The Games are truly unavoidable, truly unforgettable.

"Welcome to the Reapings of the Two Hundred and Ninety-Fourth Hunger Games, District One!" She emphasizes certain syllables for no reason at all, although, at least for a Capitolite, her voice is not at all unpleasant.

"I am Aurelia Cassius, honored to be the escort for two of our most lucky children this year, for being in the Games is a privilege for everyone. A chance to fight for unmeasurable glory and honor second to only our beloved President's, one that will result in the victor being the hero or heroine- let's not forget our girls- of the entire nation of Panem, of those young and old, of those of different Districts! And without further ado, let us choose who our two tributes will be, to represent your District in the Hunger Games!"

Cheers erupt from the crowd; flowers are thrown everywhere, as the custom. A petal lands in my arranged hair, and I pick it out. My foot moves, heel crushing the pale green stem of a lily.

Aurelia's hand reaches over the first glass bowl. "District One, ready?" It's not a question of asking if they're ready to hear who it'll be, that would be in another district. Rather, the ready is more of an indication to the volunteers to get ready to sprint to the stage.

"Representing District One, our female tribute, will be...Arabella Bellefort!"

Arabella Bellefort appears to be a small girl, perhaps thirteen, who looks up in surprise, then begins walking. My view of her is lost in at least thirty other girls running. _Curse_ these heels.

I shove past another girl. My running's always been good, my mile time five twenty-seven. I'm nearly at the front, but there's another still at least a yard in front, blonde hair streaming behind her.

Stilettos sandals may not be good for running, but they can be painful when kicked with. Keeping my balance properly, and while sprinting, I kick her as hard as I can on her knee, and she collapses.

I'm on the stage. I will be in the Games.

What do I do next? What angle do I play for the crowd?

It's a game of the mind, as well, how do I best get sponsors, how do I elude everyone's expectations?

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

I look at the audience, and know what I'll play. My voice carries, clear, but almost a whisper, a whisper of the soul, rather than the whisper of speaking.

"I am Jana Mielle. The sweetheart, I suppose, of all of District One, soon to be of Panem, our great and powerful country, when I win the Hunger Games." Perhaps that last part'll earn me sponsors in the Capitol that think that Panem is the best thing to exist.

Without missing a beat, I pick up a flower from the ground. Several landed on the stage. I blow the crowd a kiss, then toss it as far as it will carry in the slight wind.

_**District One, Chamroeun Savoy**_

I study the girl on stage carefully. Jana, she said her name was. The angle she's playing is interesting. I've spent years studying books on psychology written by people in District Five, trying to understand myself and humankind in general. The angle doesn't seem to fit her, in a way, yet she's playing it well.

I've had plenty of experiences with polygraphs. I can tell lies, I can tell acting.

She appears aware, enough. Hard to manipulate, but I'm sure I'll manage, because I do and I get what I want. That statement she made about Panem will get her a couple of rich, girl-loving and money-loving and Panem-loving, drunk, fat men in the Capitol as sponsors. They're not good sponsors if you're talking about people.

But it's not about personality, when it's about sponsors. It's about money, and she made enough of an impression that she'll get sponsors, all right.

I wonder if I can do better. But of course I can do better, because I'm Chamroeun Savoy, and I will win, and win with whatever I am given. I don't even need sponsors to win the Games, although it won't hurt.

"And now that we have our gorgeous sweetheart, Jana Mielle, let us choose our male tribute!" A fingernail with gold, swirly patterns hovers over the second bowl. I prepare to run. Male clothes, so much more practical then female clothing. I'd rather not mess up my perfect appearance running, but I suppose it's necessary. I'm also somewhat upset that my mother had me put hair spray into my perfect golden hair.

She shouldn't have told me to do that, I listen to myself! I try to figure out what led me to take that particular instruction from Mother. Unfortunately, I can't kill her, she's provided for me for a while.

When I'm victor, though, I can provide for myself, of course.

"And our male representative is Dalin Eskander!" The cue for at least twenty, perhaps thirty teenage boys to start shoving their way forward, including Dalin, it looks like.

The seventeen-year-old section is close to the front, with only the eighteen-year-olds in front, so I have a good headstart, in a way. Keeping my composure (you know, perhaps the hairspray wasn't a bad idea, it keeps my hair perfect as I run), I dash around the aisle to one that looks more clear. The main aisle is filled with a pack of other boys.

It causes me to lose several seconds, but it's like the last stretch of a marathon, that last hundred meters, perfectly clear, adrenaline running on you while you run on adrenaline. I reach the stage and vault onto it. I don't do gymnastics, like some other boys; I'm agile enough without it. I nearly knock over Aurelia, but I catch my balance first.

"What a surprising entrance!" she trills, the _r'_s in _surprising_ rolling in an unpleasant way.

I swear, when I'm victor, I will find a way to change that Capitol accent that's _ever-so-fashionable_. Not.

"Yes," I say.

"What's your name, dove?" she asks, smiling with that hideous sparkly lipstick at the audience.

I keep it short and to the point. "Chamroeun Savoy. Soon enough, Victor Savoy."

**A/N **Okay. So this is the listing of the tributes I have so far. Some of them were given to me by my friends who don't have accounts, which is why I won't include usernames for some submissions. In each, the format will be **D#: **Female and Male

**D1: **Jana Mielle and Chamroeun Savoy

**D2: **Alyxandra Valerius and Caesar Komenos (RenderUntoCaesar)

**D3: **Zenna Gates (Obviously Entei), _male not taken_

**D4: **Thalassa Brizo (Lady Adelaide of Hogwarts), _male undecided_

**D5: **_female not taken, _Arc Impendence (david12341)

**D6: **_female not taken, male not taken_

**D7:** _female not taken, male not taken_

**D8: **_female not taken, male not taken_

**D9:** _female not taken, male not taken_

**D10: **_female not taken, male not taken_

**D11:** _female undecided, male not taken_

**D12:** Ivy Mae Caverly (Wincestcher), _male not taken_

Please submit more, especially for the middle districts (6 through 10)! I understand that all the glory goes to the Careers and the inner districts, from 1 through 5, and Katniss and Rue bring glory to 11 and 12, but they're still characters, still people.

Leave me suggestions for the story in reviews or PMs, if you have any! I'd completely welcome them. Happy holidays, and thanks for reading!

~Valeriya


End file.
